The Big Talk
by tridget
Summary: Rodney gets "the big talk" from John. Well, no, he doesn't, not really, except in the most awkward and roundabout way. It is, after all, "the boys."


A/N: This fic was written in response to a prompt I saw over at** LiveJournal's sga_genrequest**. I read the challenge and was seized with inspiration on the same day that the challenge closed. However, the rules allow anyone working on a story to post even after the event is over. So, I went ahead with the tale. This is for **leesa_perrie** who requested something with Rodney and John. She wanted some of their banter "or else them not really talking about angsty stuff whilst sort of doing so." There are canon references to the McKay and Keller relationship, but Keller does not appear in the story. There is a reference to McKay's relationship with Katie Brown, but she does not appear in the story either. The emphasis is on the John and Rodney friendship. Thank you to my beta reader, **wildcat88**, for all her 'sage advice' on writing. All mistakes are my own.

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**The Big Talk**

Spotting his friend at the end of a long hallway, John broke into a jog. "Rodney, wait up!"

McKay's head snapped up as his feet stuttered to a stop. If he'd turned around any slower to face John, he could have been mistaken for someone in stasis. "Sheppard, what are you doing here?"

"I live here."

"Oh." McKay's brow wrinkled. "Oh, that's a joke. Funny." A fake smile plastered his face for a second. "So….don't let me keep you from whatever it was you were going to do."

"I was _going_ to talk to you."

McKay clapped his hands together once with forced enthusiasm. "Well, mission accomplished."

John opened his mouth and drew in a breath to say something, but he huffed out the air instead, narrowing his eyes to study McKay. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I feel fine. Just…fine. Good, actually. Yes. Very good." McKay nodded his head. "Wh-why are you asking?"

"Well for one, you're acting strange…stranger than usual."

"Another funny one. You're a regular stand-up comedian today."

"Two," John pressed on, "you weren't at dinner last night or at breakfast this morning, although apparently you did eat—"

"You checked up on me?" McKay spluttered. "That's against the rules. I'm not sure which rules, but I'm sure it's against the rules."

John ignored the outburst. "In fact, I'd almost think you were avoiding me—"

"Paranoid much?"

"Three, you're walking funny — like you hurt your leg or something — but you haven't been to the infirmary. And before you interrupt again, yes, I checked on that, too."

"You didn't!" Rodney's eyes widened and a deep flush crept up over his face.

John crossed his arms. "So, what's the problem?"

McKay sagged. "I…I twisted my ankle on that swamp planet two days ago. The place sucked. Literally. That knee-deep mud kept trying to swallow me. Do you know how many times it dragged me in?"

"I have a fair idea. Do you know how many times I hauled someone out of the muck?"

"Touché."

John frowned. "I also remember you reeling off enough complaints to fill every suggestion box in the galaxy, but I don't remember hearing you mention that you twisted your ankle."

"I...uh…I didn't know it at the time. These things can sort of…creep up on you afterwards."

"Uh huh. But now that it's crept up, you haven't had it looked at?"

McKay thrust out his chin. "I've been busy. City to keep running, scientific problems of the entire galaxy to solve, etcetera."

"It's almost lunchtime and you don't look so busy right now. What say we take a little walk to the infirmary together?" John pivoted and started down the hall.

"No!" McKay remained rooted to his spot.

"McKay, we have another mission in four days. I need to know if you're going to be fit for duty or not. So, let's go." John stopped just short of making it an order.

McKay wound his fingers together. "I-I-I don't want Jennifer to see me running to the infirmary with every little scrape and splinter."

"That hasn't bothered you before. If anything, you seem to be heading there more often these days."

"Well… I… It's not…" McKay's hands flopped to his sides and he sighed.

John hated to admit it, even to himself, but McKay's defeated look always sort of got to him. "Look, if it'll help you save face, I'll say you didn't want to go to the infirmary, but I insisted."

"I thought I'd rest first and see how it was later. Like maybe tomorrow."

"Not an option." John took hold of one of McKay's arms, trying to propel him down the corridor.

McKay yanked his arm free. Palming the nearest door control, he grabbed a fistful of John's shirt and tugged him into the room, closing the door behind them.

"McKay, what the hell—"

"It…it's…_embarrassing_." McKay uttered the last word in a stage whisper.

"What's embarrassing is that we're standing in a small supply closet. In close proximity. In the dark. What's going to be _really_ embarrassing is someone needing supplies and finding _us_ in here."

"What's the matter? You're not secure enough in your masculinity?" A soft click indicated that McKay had locked the door as he spoke.

"Am I not _what_?" John's eyes strained against the darkness. "You didn't ingest any funny-looking mushrooms in the swamp, did you?"

"Secure enough in your masculinity. That's what Jennifer asked me when we were playing 'Who Would You Rather…?' with Carter," Rodney elaborated. "I had the choice of Redford or Newman."

Now it was John's turn to splutter. "Who would you…? With _Carter_…? Redford or…?" His mind floundered, unable to conjure up the possible circumstances under which this activity might have taken place. On second thought, it was probably for the best that he couldn't because he _so_ didn't want to know.

"Now, about the 'in the dark' part," McKay rambled on, "I hadn't been planning on my big revelation quite yet, but this seems as good a time as any. Actually, now would probably be an especially good time. Just wait until you see this!"

John heard fabric rustling and then… _No way_. A belt buckle was being undone.

"McKay, what in God's name—"

"I never liked the dark to begin with. It's so…dark. Then a couple of months ago — you remember M6X 592?"

"The name's so memorable; it'd be hard to forget."

"That was the one where the inhabitants locked us in that cellar for eight hours with no equipment and no windows, hence no light. I figured we didn't want to go through that again, so I came up with an invention to circumvent a similar problem in the future."

John heard the belt buckle hit the floor along with McKay's pants.

"The latest in concealed weaponry," McKay announced.

John's eyebrows shot up. "Glow-in-the-dark boxers?"

"Not glow-in-the-dark." There was disdain in McKay's tone — and written all over his face which was now illuminated by the brilliant skivvies. "Glow-in-the-dark doesn't provide sufficient light for an adequate amount of time and it needs exposure to light first. Guess again."

"I am _not_ standing in a closet, playing guessing games about your underwear, McKay."

McKay was undaunted, a broad grin fixed on his face. "Naquadah powered."

"Naquadah?"

"Just a tiny grain." McKay squeezed his fingertips together. "In the waistband."

"And what happens when our captors come to check up on us or feed us, and find a giant glow bug in the cell, and decide to confiscate your invention?"

"Oh." McKay deflated. "Damn. I hadn't thought of that."

"Hey, I'm sure you'll work it out. On the bright side, in a pinch we can wrap your undershorts around a block of C-4 and make one hell of a bomb. Now, about the infirmary — I can understand how being seen in your 'secret weaponry' might be a little undignified. So, I'll let you change first and then we'll go."

"I can't." McKay shook his head. "I just can't. It's not only that. It-it's… Oh, God," he moaned. "Did you ever have to, you know, see Carson about anything really, _really_ embarrassing?"

"What's that got to do with it?"

"I just want to know if you can fully appreciate my…predicament."

"Um… Okay. Well then…" John steeled himself. Anything for his team. "Yes. Yes, I did. And yes, it was difficult, but I went."

"Good. I mean, not good, but—" McKay gaped at John. "You did?" His eyes lit up with curiosity. "I don't suppose you'd like to expand on that, because I don't remember seeing anything in the records?"

"McKay!"

"Okay, okay. Besides, maybe it's not exactly the same because you weren't thinking of doing anything with Carson."

"_Doing anything…?_" John mouthed, pondering the statement. "Jesus, McKay. In all the time we've worked together, there are moments when I still completely fail to grasp your line of reasoning. I—" John's jaw snapped shut as realization hit. "_Thinking_ of doing anything? _Thinking? _You mean you and Keller haven't…" His hands swirled in the air in an ambiguous gesture that failed to fill in the blank.

"I was waiting for the right time."

"Anytime in between incidents with the Wraith and other imminent disasters might be good," John offered.

"But it's so hard to determine exactly when to… I mean you take note of all the important variables and you try to generate an equation that accounts for everything and in the end," McKay tossed his hands in the air, "it's still all a crapshoot. I-I just want to do it right. I want to make it…_special_."

"Special?" John grimaced. "We're in an alien galaxy on a floating city that transforms into a spaceship. How much more _special_ does it get?"

"Fine. Mock me all you like. I just don't want to do the wrong thing and ruin this like I ruined every other relationship."

McKay folded his arms, but John saw the hurt flicker in his friend's eyes.

"I'm sure you haven't spoiled _every _relationship, Rodney." But the minute the intended words of consolation left John's mouth, he began to wonder if maybe McKay had in fact done just that.

"With Katie, I thought I'd take it slow, and-and not rush it and just, you know, and then I backed off and took some time for me and…" McKay heaved a deep sigh. "There went my thirty-eight minutes."

_Don't ask. Just don't._ John bit his bottom lip to keep from asking, but he couldn't help himself. "What thirty-eight minutes?"

"_The _thirty-eight minutes. Opportunity. The proverbial time you have until the wormhole shuts down and you're stranded."

"Oh." He really shouldn't have asked. _Poor Katie_, John thought. No wonder the woman devoted so much of her energy to cultivating her Rodneyana Villosa. "Can we just get outta here now? I—"

Muted sounds filtered in from the world beyond the closet.

"Oh, crap. The guests need towels and pillows." John stilled, hoping whoever was out there had no interest in the supplies. He willed them to move along. _Oh, God, no._ Was that Lorne's voice outside? _Double crap_.

_"Doctor McKay? This is Major Lorne."_

Hearing the hail through the door at the same time as McKay tapped his earpiece, John shot the man an urgent look, hoping he'd have the sense to keep his response volume down to a level that couldn't be heard on the other side of the door.

No such luck.

"McKay here." The words were amplified as they bounced off the walls of the confined space. Comprehending John's look, McKay clamped his hand over his mouth. "Shit."

_"Pardon me?"_

McKay buried his head under a pile of linens before responding. "Uh…'shoot'. 'Shoot,' as in 'go ahead,' 'proceed.'"

_"Oh. There appears to be a malfunction in one of the supply room doors. I'm transmitting the coordinates of the closet to your computer now."_

"Noted. I'll add it to my list of things to do. My very long list. So, uh, don't waste time waiting around."

_"I can get the supplies elsewhere, but there may be people trapped in there. I thought I heard voices a minute ago."_

Lorne rapped on the door.

_"Hello? Is there anyone in here? Do you require assistance?"_

John waited with bated breath; although it wasn't so much that he held his breath as much as he couldn't seem to draw in any air.

_"Hello?"_

Lorne knocked again.

_"There's no response, but I think I should—"_

"No! No. Um…negative." McKay withdrew his head from the stack of towels and sheets and looked at John in wide-eyed panic.

John made a rolling motion with one hand, encouraging McKay to round off the conversation.

_"Doctor McKay…?" _Lorne prompted.

McKay stuffed his head under his makeshift acoustic dampener again. "Still here. Well, not 'here' as in 'here where you are,' but 'here' as in 'here where I am,' because obviously we are not 'here' as in 'here together'. I'm 'here'…ah…somewhere else."

John whacked McKay on the arm. "Pull it together," he hissed.

McKay tried again. "Let me spell it out for you. Atlantis. A closet. A couple of people. Some people prefer jumpers, others prefer closets. I'm sure you get my drift."

John thought he heard Lorne choke.

_"I see. I'll leave the door in your hands then, Doctor. Lorne out."_

Footsteps faded down the hall.

McKay re-emerged. "That worked."

"Are…are you saying that…that Lorne…in one of _my_ jumpers?" John's voice rose until the final words were squeaked out.

"_Your_ jumpers?"

"Yes. _My_ jumpers."

"Possessive. Don't tell me you've never visited the Mile High Club?"

"_Not_ in a jumper." John massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. The idea that one of his jumpers had been… "Which one did he use?" he demanded.

McKay rolled his eyes. "It strikes me as ironic that the person I'm looking to for guidance is more concerned about which jumper than which woman."

"Guidance? You want my guidance about…" John felt as if his brain cramped. "Forget it, McKay."

"You're my team leader and best friend. You're supposed to offer me sage advice."

"Sage advice?" John scoffed. But on seeing the desperation in McKay's face, his mind scrambled for something to offer. "Sage advice. Umm… Okay, I have an idea. You should speak to Teyla. Sage advice is her thing." John smiled and nodded. Problem solved.

"You want me to ask Teyla about this? I can't do that!" McKay protested, shaking his head. "Of course, she did have a baby this year, so maybe she knows something about… But I can't imagine her—"

John held up one hand. "Stop! No more imagining. Just…just erase that thought from your mind." John's head clutched at alternative straws. "Can't you — I don't know — look this up on the computer or something? We must have some tasteful educational material on file."

"Yeah, and I want my computer to be logged in the system as searching for 'tasteful'…stuff. Of course, there's always the Ancient database, but from what I've seen, their practices were anything but tasteful."

_Do _not_ ask him about the Ancients. Not now, not ever_, John instructed himself. "Um… Alright then, here, try this advice. Maintain a steady course." He made a smooth flying motion with one hand.

"Maintain a steady course? Got it. Maintain a steady course. Maintain a steady course." McKay recited the words as though memorizing a telephone number. "Maintain a… Ah, I don't suppose you could translate that theory into a practical application could you? Exactly how does that play out in the real world?"

John scrubbed one hand over the back of his hair. "I…I'm not sure. That's the advice my dad gave me."

"That figures."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Nothing. Sorry. Any other words of wisdom?"

"Uh…" John looked down at his feet for a long minute. "Oh, I know. Here's another one. Just do it."

"Did your dad say that, too?"

"No, Nike."

"The Greek-Roman god-goddess whatever?"

"No, Rodney. The shoes. Which brings us back to your ankle."

"There's nothing wrong with my ankle. It was humid on the planet. Very, _very_ humid. And the naquadah undershorts weren't particularly comfortable – cheap cotton prototype and all and ah…" McKay's eyes darted around the closet as though looking for others within earshot. He gulped. "Ch-ch-chafing."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Even as McKay pulled his pants back over his over lower portions, extinguishing the light, John caught a glimpse of the redness suffusing the man's face again.

"There are other doctors."

"Jennifer will still know I was there and…"

"Well, uh…" John could see that McKay had a point.

"See, I'm gonna mess this one up, too. I _knew_ it."

"No. No, you're not." John scrubbed his hands over his face. "This is probably against all the rules, but…uh…I've got some—" John cleared his throat, "some…stuff leftover that Carson gave me and a…uh…tip sheet at the back of the medicine chest in my bathroom." Feeling his own face burn, John was grateful for the cover of darkness. "Just go in – when I'm _not_ there – and take it and don't ever, _ever_ speak about this again."

"Thank you." Relief flooded McKay's voice.

"Now, let's get the hell out of here."

McKay pressed his ear to the door. "I think the coast is clear. Who knew we were going to need the LSD in one of our closets?" He released the lock and waddled out.

John poked his head out of the closet, double-checking, and then exited the room behind McKay.

"Oh, and uh, one last thing." McKay spoke without turning around. "Since I don't see _you _getting any action recently, and I don't mean military action, you might consider the jumpers to be a little less sacred."

John cuffed McKay across the back of the head. "I said _never_ speak about this again. _Any_ of it," he growled.

McKay ducked his head. "Ow! I get it."

John watched for a minute as McKay picked his way down the corridor. Then he turned and sauntered in the opposite direction.

Much to John's relief, the topic never came up again. But right before McKay headed to Earth for a conference – which was coincidentally at the same time as Keller's trip to Earth — John snuck into his friend's room and hid a pair of Nikes in McKay's suitcase just as…um…you know, a bit of sage advice.

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The End

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A/N: If you enjoyed this story, check out the version on my LiveJournal under the user name of tridget. That version has an accompanying illustration.


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